Zoe The Strange
by HonestyIsMyPolicy
Summary: Zoe the Strange is your typical shy girl: incredibly quiet, nervous, and NOT ready for her first day of high school. Rated T for some strong language, but no adult situations as of yet.


Story One: Rebel by First Bell

A Zoe the Strange Story

When did shyness go from being an adorable quirk to some incurable affliction? Three years ago, my inability to look someone in the eye and quick blush was awarded with "aw" and "oh how cute". Now, it's as though I'm some kind of leper, the very dregs of society because I have trouble speaking my mind or joining in on conversations. It's as though my social skills- or, rather, lack thereof- define me as some weird, psycho Goth girl who spends her weekends communicating with dead relatives with my trusty Ouija board or conspiring with Sadako from The Ring to haunt innocent high school girls. You know, and the fact that God gifted me with raven black hair, abnormally pale skin, and incredibly light blue eyes that went from cool to disgust-o within a matter of month. And my last name being LeStrange doesn't exactly help my image.

So, there you go; that's me, the faux Ghost Whisperer, Zoe LeStrange, or Zoe the Strange as I am referred to by the less ghostly-looking and more social girls at my high school. I am, in my opinion, more or less your average freshman high school girl; I want a group of best friends to swoon over guys with, some kind of activity to occupy my free time, and, of course, some ah-mazing heartthrob to have as a boyfriend. Is that most likely impossible for me to achieve in my current state? Yep. Will my first year of high school probably be worse than Hell Week at the Citadel? Of course. But, the optimistic little chatterbox that I am, I've decided that this year is my year; I _will_ have a good freshman year and nothing will stop me.

"Zoe the Strange," I whisper to my dark room the night before my first day. "You're something real special; now, you just got to show the rest of the world that." My eyes flutter shut, a small smile on my lips, and I dream of a perfect high school life.

"'You took your time with the call, I took my time with the fall!'" I jolt upright in bed, shocked from my slumber by Carly Rae Jepsen's hit-o'-the-summer I queued up in my iPod the night before. My heart eventually settles back into its usual rhythm and I stumble out of my room and into the bathroom.

"Damn it, Zo; hurry up!" Kyle, my little brother, whines from outside the door. "I'm almost done." I carefully slip the hair pin just above my ear, smiling at how bouncy and graceful my curly hair decided to be this morning. "There. Perfection." I allow myself one more moment of self-appreciation before letting Kyle in. "Way to look like a total zomb, Frodo _Bag_gins!" he squawks, chuckling at his own lame joke. "Screw you, midge." I return in an overly cheerful voice. "Get out now, or you get to witness me taking my morning dump." He replies, already pulling down his boxers. "Ew, Jesus; I'm going, you little perv!" I slam the bathroom shut behind me. "Kyle is being _soooooo_ lame!" I fume to Sven, my adorable Bischon puppy.

Sven barks back adorably, his little tail wagging so hard his little butt is wiggling. "I know, I know; I can't let it get to me. You're right, Sven." I pat his furry white head affectionately. "Time to get dressed."

Saint Michael's Catholic High School is an institution of learning for the best, brightest, and richest; I'd received a half scholarship from a writing contest, and my mom could swing the other half. The mandatory uniform (for girls) is comprised of a pleated blue skirt and a white blouse. The shoes have to be brown or black, preferably leather; socks must by white or navy high knee socks or navy blue, gray, or black tights (without any holes or tears). Allowed sweaters/jackets include: a plain navy blue sweater, a sports club sweatshirt, other St. Michael sweatshirts (purchased from their online store, of course), or the navy blue blazer which is required for the boys with the school emblem on the left side. Navy blue sweater vests are also acceptable.

I pull my socks all the way up, adjust my skirt so it's exactly three inches above the knee (as specified by the dress code), and stick my feet into my new, shiny, black Mary Janes. "Perfect." The clock says I still have thirty minutes left before mom will be ready to drop me off, so I apply some of my newly acquired mascara and Ruby Red lip gloss with a steady hand. Usually, I'd wait until after I force down a few spoonfuls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, which was my favorite breakfast cereal since birth, but today I'm way too nervous to even attempt eating anything.

"Time to go, love-y dove-ys," Mom shouts from down stairs. "Coming!" Kyle and I yell, tousling with each other as we scramble to the car, flinging our newly purchased book bags over our shoulders. Kendal, my baby brother, is already buckled into his car seat, snoring adorably, his little blond head lolling to the side. "You have your house key, Zo?" Mom inquires, maneuvering the dark green minivan out of our practically nonexistent driveway. "'Course." I reply, dangling my wallet in front of her face, my keys hanging from the zippered pocket. "Good. You got your lunch money?"

After a round of twenty questions with mom about what I remembered to pack, we reach the drop off for St. Michael's. Students in uniforms identical to mine shuffle across the front lawn, waving greetings to friends, yelling cat-calls, seeming like perfectly normal high school students. I smile to myself; this year won't be a problem at all.

I hop out of the passenger's side, give mom a little smile and a half-wave, and begin walking to the entrance, taking a leisurely pace. St. Michael's is a pretty imposing place actually; the front doors are made of expensive doors with bronze handles, held open by some very heavy looking encyclopedias with a set of grand stone steps leading up to them. The front hall has a vaulted ceiling with floor-to-ceiling trophy shelves lining the walls, filled with shiny plaques and ornate trophies for every sport, academic competition, or best-school-of-the-year awards. The floors are sparkling and there are benches at regular intervals with little plaques proclaiming which successful alumni donated it.

Off the main hallway is the gym (state of the art scoreboard, new basketball hoops, and a mural of the mascot, St. Michael the Archangel with a Greek toga, laurel wreath, angel wings, and a flaming sword, painted on the wall) and the locker rooms (freshly-cleaned showers with non-mildew-y plastic curtains and six bathroom stalls, two of them handicap accessible). About half way down are two more hallways, one leading to the Fine Arts wing (art studio, performing arts center, etc.), the other leading to wrestling rooms, weight rooms, and the like. Then, at the end of the main hallway, there's a flight of stairs leading to the second floor, where the freshman and sophomore lockers, along with the Theology, History, and English classrooms are. There's a raised walkway leading between the second floors of the A building and the B building.

B building second floor is the junior and senior lockers and Science, Math, and Foreign Language classrooms; the first floor is the cafeteria, front office, and empty classrooms used for Study Hall. There's a courtyard between the A building and B building first floors ringed by tall hedges with a fountain in the middle (aka prime seating for the popular kids). Sports fields, a football stadium, and the building that houses the indoor pool/track make up the rest of the campus. Not including the extensive parking lot behind the school.

I find my locker fast enough, getting my locker shelf in on the first try, and neatly stacking my books and binders inside. _The excessive organization won't last for long_, I sigh inwardly. I may seem well put together, but I'm an innate slob. It's a worst affliction than being shy.

A girl with red hair styled in a pixie cut clumps over to me, somehow staying upright in her Wallabies. "You're locker 2506?" she inquires, a no nonsense expression on her face and a hand on her hip. "Y-yes." I stammer, my heart pounding in my chest. This girl may seem tiny- almost like a little fairy-, but she's quite intimidating. Her stern expression melts into a pretty smile. "Cool; I guess that makes us locker buddies." She gestured to the locker beneath mine. "Oh." _Wow. I'm just amazed by my conversational skills right now; quite an eloquent response, eh?_ I grimace slightly. "I'm Lil, by the way." She sticks her hand out, expecting a handshake. "I'm, uh, Zoe." _Dumb much? I sound like I'm freaking unsure of my own name!_ "Zoe LeStrange." I say in a much more sure voice.

"LeStrange? Cool; I'm Lester." Her face changes to a slightly pained expression. "A truly crap name for an aspiring actress, but Fate is cruel." _Drama-rama alert; steer clear!_ I decide my inner voice needs to take a break, so I focus on examining her as she chatters cheerfully, expecting only well-placed nods and "mm-hm" noises to keep her assured I'm listening. Her face is slim and she has petite features, except for her big, Bambi-esque, gray eyes; her ears are slightly pointed at the tips, but not noticeably so. She's an inch or two shorter than me, and she has nice, slim curves; although, her torso is pretty much swallowed up by the oversized navy blue sweater vest she's wearing.

A bell rings somewhere in the distance and, suddenly, everyone's rushing to their respective homeroom; Lil and I meander to Room 204, home of Mr. Snow, aka Mr. _Snore_, as cleverly dubbed by some popular senior a decade or so back. He's asleep at his desk when we take our seats. "Schedule?" Lil holds out her hand expectantly. I pass her the crumbled paper, wincing slightly at her only slightly creased schedule. "We have… hm, bio and history together. Not so bad; could be worse." She shrugs, giving me a what-can-ya-do smile. "Yeah." I nod in agreement. Thankfully, I'm saved from anymore awkward attempts at conversing on my part by the announcements.

"Welcome back, students! We all hope you had a terrific summer, and are ready to have a SUPER school year!" the woman, probably the fifty-something-year-old secretary from the principal's office, enthuses. "All freshman and new students are to report to the performing arts center right after homeroom; afterwards, you are to report to your third period classes." The rest of the announcements sound strangely like advertisements for the various clubs; photography and Writers Anonymous sound interesting. Finally, homeroom ends with the Pledge of Allegiance and a prayer.

Lil and I make small talk about our summers as we're pushed by the wave of other freshmen to the auditorium; we find seats next to each other, and Lil nervously chips at her silver nail polish as we wait. The principal, an imposing man who vaguely resembles a college linebacker, makes a long, rambling speech about new beginnings; the disciplinarian, "call me Ms. Vicky" she told us with a conspirator's wink, yammers on about following rules and the "imminent consequences of insubordination". The guidance counselors nervously fidget as they talk about making appointments to plan courses, talk about college, or "just to hang". Then, eventually, we're allowed to vacate.

"Welcome, welcome!" Mrs. Dare, my Honors English teacher, greets us as we file into her classroom. "Sit wherever you want; we'll get seating arrangements sorted out at some point." She gestures to the circle of beanbag chairs on the ugly purple shag carpeting. I duck my head down, and claim a cushy green one with a nice view out the window and of the clock. Slowly, the room starts to fill up, all the seats occupied except for the one to my right. The late bell rings. "Shit!" a guy, who runs in at the last possible moment, grunts as he bends over trying to catch his breath. "Sorry, Mrs. D. I got caught up with somethin'." The boy runs a hand through his messy black hair.

Mrs. Dare sighs with extra gusto, pointing to the chair beside me. "Yes, yes, Sam. Please be seated." The boy- Sam- flashes a dazzling smile at her and plops down beside me. "Hey." He nods when he notices me watching him. My face turns a new shade of red and I mutter a quick "hi" before directing my attention elsewhere. Sam chuckles softly. "Now, we'll go around the circle and introduce ourselves. I don't want just names or nicknames or whatever you call what you kids go by nowadays; I want you to include an interesting fact about yourself. Something we'd never guess about you." A pretty blond, Tammy, starts off.

"I'm Tammy, short for Tamara, and I know origami." Slowly, everyone introduces themselves, and then, quicker than I can formulate a fact, it's my turn. "Um." _Come on, Zo; you can do it! Screw them, screw everyone. You're who you are and, if they can't handle that, it's their problem._ "I'm Zoe, short for Zoe the Strange," the cruel nickname rolls of my tongue easily and I suddenly feel more confident. _That's who I am; I'm Zoe the Strange._ A small smile appears on my lips. "And I guess a weird fact about me- er, whatever- is that I was born while my mom was on a business trip to Tokyo, and I have dual citizenship." The introductions keep going, but I feel… well, less timid. More like someone who would fit the nickname.

Sam's fact is that he's a huge fan of Asian horror movies; he flashes me a slightly cocky grin when he says it and my cheeks are suddenly on fire again.

"Alright; now that that's over with." Mrs. Dare smiles wickedly. _Uh-oh._ "I'll be splitting you all into pairs for your first assignment; we'll be working on this for the entire first quarter." _What?! Not cool!_ "I want you all to pick a book; and I mean a real, honest-to-God book, no _Twilight_ vampire teen fiction. Do a project on it; a paper, a movie, a series of drawings, a reenactment of a scene, whatever. Just make it good." Her brown eyes sparkle with untold evil behind those old lady glasses. _Damn it! Way to discriminate against shy people._ Even my inner insults are falling flat. "Okay, pairs are…" she begins to rattle off names. "And, finally, dearest Samuel and The Strange."

_No. Just no. _"And, before anyone asks," she directs me with a sympathetic look. "You're stuck with your partner. No switching. My apologies." The malicious glint in her eyes proves the last statement false. I examine the other pairs. A cheerleader and a Goth girl (her hair is black with red streaks and about five pounds of makeup around her eyes), a nerd and a buff jock, a Queen Bee and a boy who's obviously overly-dramatic. Not exactly pairings made with the students' comfort in mind. _Which, of course, is the point; she wants to force us out of our comfort zones, see how far we'll go to get a good grade. We have to get along or fail._

Class ends just as Sam is about to say something, and I'm already halfway out the door by the time he stands up. _Ugh, that was beyond rude._ But, I continue to rush down the hallway, making it to History within a minute. "Hey, Zoe." Lil smiles at me, a fresh coat of bright red lipstick on her lips. "Hi, Lil." I reply as we collapse into two seats in the back. "So, what'd you just have?" She smiles genuinely at me. "English. Mrs. Dare is… interesting?" I shrug. Lil watches me, waiting for me to explain. "Well, she split us up into pairs and we have to do some type of project on a book. Which wouldn't be so bad, you know, if it weren't _in pairs_; I just hate having to rely on someone else for a good grade." I sigh. "That sucks. I heard Mrs. Dare is kind of a bitch."

Lil and I chat about her drama class- "it was ah-mazing! I think it's gonna be great!"- until History starts. And, guess who takes the seat in front of me? No, go ahead; take a guess. Think messy black hair and English class. Yup, you got it. Sam.

"Hey, Little V." he nods at Lil. I give her a wide-eyed look. "No, it's not about that; it's short for Little Vicky." She chuckles at me scandalized expression. "Oh. Good." My face is probably a new shade of red. "This is my friend, Sammy; Sammy, this is my locker buddy, Zoe." Lil introduces us. "We already met." Sam announces, loudly enough for Mr. Patterson to turn around and shoot us a glare. "Mr. Fredericks, I implore you to at least _attempt_ to be a bit quieter when you're flirting during my class."

"Aye, aye, cap'n." Sam gives him a mock salute, turning right back around when Mr. Patterson goes back to scribbling things on the board in his illegible scrawl. "Zoe's my partner in English." Sam winks at me as though we share some kind of secret just because we're in the same English class. "Ah, now I understand why Zoe's worried about her grade." Lil nods. "Ah, that hurts, Zoe the Strange; it hurts right here." He points at his heart. _He said my nickname._ It doesn't sound mean or cruel when he says it; it sounds almost… affectionate. Lil and Sam continue their banter throughout class, eliciting an abundance of glares from Mr. P.

"Lunch time!" Lil and Sam shout at the end of the period, grinning like maniacs. "Um, what's so great about that? It's just lunch." I comment. Lil and Sam are dragging me through the packed hallways, going straight for the front door. "Just lunch? That's practically blasphemy!" Lil exclaims, throwing the front door open and skipping across the front lawn. "My mom's the superintendant, so me and my friends get exclusive access to the sports fields at lunch." Sam shrugs. "We used to come over here during lunch period at the middle school." He nods at the nearly identical building that holds St. Michael's Middle/Elementary School that's separated by a wall of hedges.

"Cool." I reply, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear. "Double piercings? I didn't take you for the type." Lil remarks after we all get comfortable under a grand oak tree by the soccer field. "What type did you think I was?" I steal a chip from the big bag of Ruffles Sam had swiped from Mr. Snow's secret stash. "Um, I dunno; the quiet nerd? The shy backstabber? Or maybe the closet religious nut?" She doesn't seem to notice my embarrassment at her answer, or at least decides it isn't worth apologizing for.

"I can only agree with the first one." Sam adds. "But, if you are the quiet nerd, you're pretty cool for one." My cheeks burn, but I attempt to conceal it by stealing a handful of chips. Lil and Sam trade insults, periodically discussing classes or clubs, until we hear the distant sound of the lunch bell. Lil gallops off, leaving Sam and me in the dust to get a good seat in Theology class. "What have you got next?" He asks as I drape my messenger back over one shoulder. "Um, Spanish, I think; you?"

"Same. Let's walk together." Sam suggests this casually, oblivious to the fact that I'm suddenly anxious. Lil's easy to talk to, but being able to converse regularly with the opposite gender is not an expectation I've set yet. "'Kay." I squeak. The first few minutes pass in awkward silence. "So, you and Lil go pretty far back, right?" _Good job! You got this, girlie!_ My thought process was starting to sound a lot like my stepdad's ex-wife, who happens to be a life coach. "Yeah; we've been best friends since birth practically. She can be kind of oblivious about what she says, but she's a pretty nice kid, all things considered." I nod, fiddling with my key chain. "You have any brothers or sisters?" he inquires suddenly.

"Yeah, one brother, one sister; you?" We swap stories about stupid things our brothers have done (he has four, all older) and the rest of the walk to Spanish passes quickly. "Your stop, milady." He sweeps an overdramatic bow. "Isn't this your class too?" I must look really confused because he laughs. "Nah; I'm in the stupid kids' class. You have bio next, right? I'll meet you here and we can walk together." Sam flashes one last smile, and then dashes down the hall towards his own class.

I'm not very early, so I get stuck with a seat in the front row, but, honestly, I'm not at all upset about it; walking with Sam was more than worth it.

I spend most of the class thinking about Sam; I can feel the beginnings of a crush forming. _Oh, come on; who're you trying to delude? It's not the "beginnings" you've already got a crush._ Damn. Thought process is right. _Thank you; of course I am._ Damn smug inner voice. Sam is cute though; heart-throbbingly so. His messy black hair is always falling in his pretty green eyes with those unbelievably long lashes; he has one of those I-know-I'm-hot smiles that make you want to see more if it. He has nice, classic features; clean cut jaw, nice cheekbones. He's taller than me and looks pretty muscular, but not too much so. So, I have my heartthrob, now I've just got to get him to like me back.

"Want to hang with us at the Fro-Yo Palace?" Lil offers. It's Friday of the first week, and Lil and I have become fast friends; she's spent the past three days at my house after school, leaving really late. "Definitely." I've come out of my shell around Lil and Sam; I can keep up polite small talk with Bobby and Hailstorm, two of Sam's friends. Hailstorm is a pretty blond metal head who wears clip-on black and blue extensions and writes song lyrics up her arms in Sharpie; Bobby is the Goth from our English class who's actually the star of the baseball team.

"Cool." Lil slams her locker shut, flashing me a smile. "Week one has been conquered." She makes a little checkmark in the air with her finger. "Hey, kiddies." Sam, Hailstorm, and Bobby appear beside us. "Who you callin' kiddies, toad?" Lil shot back. Hailstorm rolls her eyes. "Stop it, love birds; this is gonna make me lose my appetite."

Lil's face flushes and she flashes Hailstorm a glare. "Dumbass." She finally mutters, grabbing my arm and leading me in front of the other three who share a good laugh. Lil's still fuming when we reach Fro-Yo Palace. "Oh, hell no." Bobby growls. Hailstorm sees my shock and lets out a long sigh. "The Royalty's sitting at our table." She points to a corner booth with cracked leather seats that are supposed to seem retro and not ugly.

Brianna, Brooke, and Brenda (the Triple B's, aka the captain and co-captains of the cheerleaders, although I heard Brenda's real name is Catherine) and Mattie (the quarterback) and two other jock straps occupy the table; all of whom are guffawing about something Mattie said. Hailstorm marches over, glowering over Brooke, and the other three soon follow, me grudgingly dragged by Lil. "'Scuse me, but this is _our_ table." Hailstorm hisses. "Oh, really? I don't see 'Table Exclusively for Sluts and Co.' written anywhere here." Brianna retorts, earning another round of chortles.

"Well, then that's just proof that it's not yours." Lil shrieks. Brooke looks past the others and straight at me. "Aw, you even brought along your little charity case. How sweet." Lil opens her mouth to snap something back. _I am Zoe the Strange_, I think. _What would a freak like me do at a time like this?_ "Fine; you can have the table. I guess it's only fair to let you have your fun now before your life spirals into the depths of crappiness when you reach your twenties, already previously being knocked up by one of your brain dead cronies," I gesture to the football players. "You _do_ know that in about ten years you'll have three kids you hate, an ugly husband with a beer gut who's a wuss even when he's drunk, and you'll be stuck wishing you weren't such a bitch during high school so that you would have actual friends to vent to instead of hairdressers who you pay outrageous wads of cash to because you've got no other way to whine about how you used to be an ah-mazing cheerleader with the absolute hawt-est boyfriend." _Wow. I think that's the most I've said since my science presentation in seventh grade._

"Well, at least she's not a loser slut-whore!" Brianna croaks. "You mean a loser slut-whore who will most likely earn more money in one year than you will in your entire sorry life? Hm, that's definitely a way worse thing to be." My voice is dripping with sarcasm. "How 'bout you do yourselves a favor and just give up the goddamn table? I can formulate more intellectual insults than you could ever wish to and I'd rather not be stuck listening to you sputter meaningless curse words about me when I could be eating some frozen yogurt. Or, do I need to give more of you predictions about your sad, sad future?" _Holy shit. I just said that. Who AM I?_ But, to my surprise, they give up the table, snarling a few insults as they pass.

"Holy shit." Hailstorm breathes. "You're way more badass than I thought." So, we sit down and eat our yogurt and I decide being a badass seems like a very nice thing to be.


End file.
